


Reconnection

by dolores



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-17
Updated: 2011-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-21 11:37:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dolores/pseuds/dolores
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oz returns. There will be consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reconnection

**Author's Note:**

> For the Full Moon Ficathon, prompts as below. The inspiration from this came from a comment Seth Green made about his departure, saying he felt Oz was better as a recurring character. This fic imagines that Oz is a recurring character in seasons 5 and 6 and how that might have worked out. Any differences with canon are due to Oz’s presence and not because I’ve got it wrong, obviously.
> 
> Prompt from List: Oz doesn't leave in s4  
> Prompt from Table: solidarity

_Tooth and claw tear into flesh and the prey cries in pain. The scent of fear is as sharp and delicious to the wolf as the taste of blood; warm, slippery entrails spill from the body as the torso is slashed open._

_The wolf feeds._

Xander turns a corner and suddenly he is in the steam room again, but there’s no swim team sitting sweating on the benches. Only Oz, leaning against the wall, hand on hip, wearing nothing but a pair of royal blue Speedos. And goodness, doesn't he fill them out.

“You could go either way,” says Oz, languorously.

There are two doors, left and right, steam swirling ahead of each.  Beads of sweat trickle down Oz’s pale chest.

After a moment’s hesitation, during which he tries hard not to look anywhere other than Oz’s face, Xander goes left, risking a glance back as he does so, but Oz has gone.

Later, when the Scoobies recount tales of First Slayers, book reports and ice-cream vans, Xander doesn't tell the others about that part of his dream.

_The prey struggles on its belly under the weight of the wolf, desperate to flee, scrabbling at the ground – but it is too late. The jaws snap close._

“Didn't you leave?”

As opening gambits go it’s perhaps a little direct, but Xander has had to wait the Dingoes’ whole set to ask his question and the curiosity is burning him up.

“Twice,” agrees Oz, putting his guitar in its case. They’re at the side of the stage, with the rest of the band packing up around them.  Oz looks around the Bronze to take in its decor and denizens. “But I missed the glamour.”

Xander surveys the crowds with him. “Sure it's long past its Warhol and Debbie Harry heyday, but hand out some magic candy and you'd never know.”

They both contemplate that for just a second: for Xander at least, that day already seems like the distant past.  

“More accurately,” says Oz, “I promised Devon. Said I'd come back, do a couple of gigs. Almost didn’t come though.” Oz turns to look at Xander, and there’s just a trace of nerves. “Is she here?”

There’s no need to say who ‘she’ is.

“She isn’t,” Xander answers. “Actually, I’m kinda here on my own. Buffy and Will have exams to study for and apparently I count as a serious distraction. No more than usual, but this week that’s proving to be a problem. Anyways, as there’s only so many nights you can spend in a basement eating Cheetos, I thought I’d sample some of Sunnydale’s unrivalled nightlife.”

“You’re here on your own? Rumour had it you’re dating Anya,” Oz says, stooping to unplug the cables going into his amp.

Xander feels awkward. How does he explain that as wonderful Anya is, a man sometimes needs a little space?  

“Oh, I am. Absolutely. But just like Cheetos, even the best things in life have to be... rationed.”

Okay, not like that.

Xander gets a raised eyebrow. “Did you just compare your girl to chips?”

“Well. Yes. But there are few things in life I love more than Cheetos, so it’s almost a compliment,” Xander says, though he looks abashed. Oz appears unconvinced.

“But, hey, Oz, talking of girls – and I kinda feel I have to ask this – is, y’know, a girl of any sort why you’re back?”  

Oz stops packing for a second, and it seems to Xander that the music suddenly gets much quieter. Then Oz shakes his head a little. “No, really, it's not like that. Just couldn't keep running away, ‘cause that’s no way to deal. Heard the Initiative hightailed, figured it was safe.”

He turns to look at Xander, expression and tone serious. “But I'm keeping a low profile, for now. Not sure I'm ready to rejoin the Scoobies. You should tell Willow I’m in town. But I’m going give her some space. I owe her that.”

A tightness in Xander's chest eases, and only when it does so does he realise it's been there in the first place. He wants to ask exactly what Oz is going to be dealing with, but instead places what he hopes is a friendly yet manly hand on Oz's slim shoulder. “Understood. But, hey, it's good to have you back.”

“Thanks,” Oz says, and he smiles that crooked, half-smile that, in Xander’s mind, is the default Oz facial expression. It makes him nostalgic for high school. Who knew that could happen?

“Say, Oz – and whilst I will fully respect your current non-Scooby boundaries – d’you fancy hanging sometime? It’s just – well, I don’t really get much guy-time these days. Or at least, guy-time that doesn’t involve opera or a lot of pent-up testosterone. And that’s just Giles.”

“I'm guessing even with Riley there’s not much integration culture-wise?”  

Xander nods vigorously. “Exactly. Like, neither of them ever wants to watch _Batman: The Animated Series_ reruns.”

Oz shakes his head sadly. “Philistines.”

Xander feels absurdly giddy. “So you’re in?”

“Sure. I’m staying at Devon’s – come round sometime.”

“Just try and stop me.”

 

_The prey is injured, bleeding, weak and slow. It stumbles, crying out, falling into the dirt._

_The wolf is upon it, triumphant._

At about this time every Christmas, Joyce allows herself a well-earned brandy. Presents have been exchanged, the long-distance call to Illinois and Arlene has been made, and the enormous dinner has been cooked and eaten – even if one of her pies had ended up on the kitchen floor. Now she can relax on the sofa, and observe the younger ones playing _The Game of Life_ , something Anya has insisted upon as she didn’t get to finish it the last time.

Once, when the girls were young and she and Hank were still together, she worried that Buffy and Dawn would get the wrong idea from that game: that success was measured by wealth, that marriage and kids were absolutes for young women, that you could make your fortune gambling on the stockmarket.  

Later, following the revelation of Buffy’s identity as the Slayer, she worried whether it was too cruel to even have it in the house; whether for all its ridiculous two-dimensional moral framework, it was nevertheless a reminder of the sort of ‘normal’ life Buffy was unlikely ever to attain.

The thing about surviving a tumour is that you learn to stop sweating the small stuff. It was, after all, only a silly board game. She's simply going to sip her brandy and exchange amused glances with Rupert, another spectator.

A gale of laughter goes up because Xander has won a Nobel prize, and then another when Buffy has to adopt two more children – bringing her total up to seven.

She half wishes she was playing too, but there simply aren't enough little plastic cars to go around, even with Willow and Tara doubling up. Joyce has never had a house so full of people on Christmas Day before. No less than nine around the dining table, all the waifs and strays of Sunnydale: her daughters, of course, as well as Rupert, Willow, Xander, Anya, Tara and Oz.

She has to admit she’d been a little nervous since Xander had asked if Oz could join the party. Not for Oz’s sake, of course; she’d always had a lot of time for him. But though she doesn’t fully understand the complex relationships of college-age kids – and didn't even when she herself was at college – she was still none too sure about the etiquette of inviting Willow’s ex-boyfriend as well as her current girlfriend.

Whilst Rupert had assured her that in his opinion it wouldn’t be an issue, and Dawn – who had always regarded Oz with a measure of awe for being in a band – was really quite adamant that it was fine, Willow was more equivocal.  

Which is to say that Willow had said she was, “totally cool with the idea,” then made a comment about a resolve face that Joyce didn’t quite understand, before chewing her lip and looking fretful as soon as she thought Joyce was looking the other way.  

Joyce knew their interaction over the months since Oz had returned to Sunnydale had been really quite strained at times; it hadn’t helped that Buffy had remained convinced until fairly recently that Oz was aiming to win Willow back, and seemingly had over-interpreted the most basic conversations  as proving her point.  

Nor had it helped a few weeks back that Tara had apparently cast some sort of spell that made demons invisible and one had attacked Oz, causing him to wolf out and very nearly kill Tara’s brother.  

Quite why you would want to make demons invisible, Joyce had never actually worked out – but then Dawn had been relaying the story whilst Joyce was still pretty out of it on pain medication, so maybe she’d missed hearing some vital detail.

But whatever her qualms, once Xander had applied a good dose of guilt by informing her that Oz's parents were out of town for Christmas and he'd otherwise be spending it alone, Joyce put aside her anxieties and instructed Buffy to extend the invitation.

Of course, in the event it was another case of not sweating the small stuff. He'd been the perfect guest: complimenting her on her hair as soon as he arrived (it was the first day she hadn’t worn a headscarf since the operation and she'd felt nervous, funny how he picked up on it), bringing thoughtful gifts for all, discussing old music with Rupert and new music with Dawn, and making a clear effort to talk to Tara when she was clearly the most nervous of all.

Throughout the day, Joyce couldn't help but notice that Oz and Xander were close, more than she remembered them being before. Subtle glances from Oz, less subtle glances from Xander; a couple of little jokes; and some animated debate as to whether _A Muppet Christmas Carol_ was the best of the Muppet movies. There was something about it Joyce couldn't quite put her finger on, especially about Oz's expressions. Heaven knew they were inscrutable at the best of times but Joyce wouldn't mind some mindreading powers today.

There’s some history there, she supposes. In a separate instalment of her attempts to cheer up her poorly mother, Dawn had attempted to explain that on one occasion Xander had been split into two versions of himself. The details are hazy now – were hazy then thanks to the codeine – but Joyce recalls Dawn telling her that ‘loser Xander’ had gone to Oz for help as he thought ‘cool Xander’ was an imposter, and that the reunited Xander had been particularly grateful.  

And, though Joyce remains unclear as to how or why Xander was split into two, the experience has evidently cemented a friendship otherwise built on a foundation of movie nights and, she suspects, Xander’s comfort in having a male friend his own age for once. It was sweet.

There’s a squeal of glee from Anya as she announces her triumph in reaching millionaire’s mansion with a fistful of fake dollars, then mock groans from several other players as she leans in to give her boyfriend an overenthusiastic celebratory kiss.

 Joyce sips her brandy and giggles as Rupert rolls his eyes and Dawn starts to complain about cheating.

She looks at the assembled group, laughing and happy, and feels so very grateful. Raising her eyes to the ceiling, she wishes for a hundred more Christmases just like it.

 

_Branches snatch at its fur, wind whips at its muzzle, blood roars in its veins. In front of it, the prey runs, runs for its life, but it shall not escape. The wolf gets closer with each moment._

Xander raises another glass to Joyce.  

At first he looks on the verge of speaking, but in the end his toast is mute. All the same, he conveys his meaning as well as a lengthy speech, and Oz mirrors the salute – though rather than bourbon, there’s only water in his glass.

The bourbon is tossed back and Xander pours another, swirling the amber liquid in the glass, looking both lost and a little drowsy.

In the week since Joyce’s death, Oz thinks that Xander had held up pretty well. He’s patiently explained as well as he could the mysteries of mortality to a desperate Anya; listened to the fretful anguish of Willow, distraught that she couldn’t somehow have used her magic to save Mrs Summers; and provided calm, strong and stoic support to a shell-shocked Buffy and Dawn, particularly during the day of the funeral itself.

Oz wishes he could have done more.  

He hasn't made any casseroles – cookery's not really his scene – but the van has been put into use moving people and objects about as required, and Buffy asked him to be a pall-bearer, something that had both surprised and moved him. But despite this honour, he still felt a little peripheral. It made him uneasy almost, that he was intruding on private grief by being with the Scoobies, but then sometimes the role of a friend in these situations was simply to be there and feel helpless, in solidarity with the bereaved.

Tonight is another contribution though. The only display of real emotion he's seen from Xander since Joyce's death is when he punched the wall in Willow's dorm, and Oz figures Xander needs a break from being strong for everyone else. He's pretended this is just another of their movie nights, even if they haven't actually watched any movies so far. Xander turned up with a bottle of liquor and they've sat together in almost complete silence as the contents are slowly consumed.  

If his reputation for taciturnity is somewhat over-stated, Oz is nevertheless an expert at sitting in silence. He enjoys it, in fact, and thinks the mark of true friendship is to be able to sit in silence with someone and know that the silence isn't awkward. Of course, the other of his two closest comrades, Devon, was rarely ever quiet – even in sleep he snored like a train – but that wasn't the same thing.

For his part, Devon had showed uncharacteristic sensitivity by ensuring that he and their fellow housemates went off to LA for the night, ostensibly to "meet some A and R dude," though Oz knew that was pretty much a flat out lie. But he appreciated it all the same.

The thing about death was it made you count your blessings.  

Oz never thought he could be in a room with Willow and Tara and not risk getting a bit lupine – but his experience at Christmas showed they could all move on. He'd always love Willow but he knew now he was not what she needed, and probably never would be. But he'd never have known that if Xander hadn't helped reintegrate him with his old friends, given him the confidence to trust himself to exercise control. That the wolf and he could coexist, now that everything was platonic.

He wondered if anyone at the Christmas party had worked out how nervous he was. But being around Xander was soothing. It was kinda like the worry dolls he had bought in Guatemala. Tiny little things made of wood and cloth that you put under your pillow when you slept, to take your troubles away. Xander was like a big one of those.

He had never said it to anyone, but he'd been planning to leave Sunnydale again as soon as he'd done those gigs for Devon. He'd probably still be wandering the world had Xander not come to the Bronze that night. And whilst he’s sure that would have been cool in its way, he doesn’t regret staying one bit.

He owes Xander. A lot.

Oz isn't sure exactly when Xander starts to weep, because like the rest of that evening, it's done in silence. Oz moves to the sofa and puts an arm around Xander's shoulders, and holds on.

Later, Oz helps a semi-conscious Xander to his bedroom, and puts him to bed. Xander is sleeping as soon as he's horizontal. Oz tugs off Xander’s shoes and covers him with a blanket.

There’s an armchair in the corner of the room. It’s not very comfortable to sit in, let alone sleep – but then Oz has slept in worse places during his travels. He could sleep on the sofa – on Devon's bed, even, though his sheets hadn't been washed since some time in the nineteenth century – but he wants to be there for Xander if he needs him.

Maybe he can be a worry doll tonight.

 

_The forest is thick with trees, the ground uneven. The prey hopes to lose the wolf in the darkness, tries to injure or deter the wolf by throwing rocks. It will not succeed._

"I've asked Anya to marry me," says Xander, hoping he looks less nervous than he feels.  There's a slight pause, and then Xander realises he's missed out some vital information. "She said yes. After slapping me and also saying no. But yes was definitely in there."

Oz smiles, one of the rare ones when you can actually see his teeth. "Congratulations, man."  

"Thanks. I mean, it feels weird, talking about anything like that when Buffy’s just…"

He trails off, and Oz nods to show understanding.

"Coming up against Glory, it puts in it perspective: figured if I love her as much as I do, there's no time to waste. The battle proved that."

They both still bear the scars of that day – Oz’s arm in its cast, Xander’s fading cuts and bruises.

“It’s weird even talking about this. Like it’s disrespectful to Buffy.”

Oz shakes his head. “ I think Buffy would be happy for you. Probably more than any of us."

Xander blinks rapidly, and looks away. He wants to say more, try to articulate just how confused his emotions are: grief, love, doubt, fear, excitement, happiness, sadness. It seems impossible he can feel all of these things at once and yet somehow he is.  

Maybe it's just that they're watching _The Wizard of Oz_ and he's eaten too many M&Ms.

He clears his throat. "But anyway, don't think married life will mean we have to stop our movie nights. I'll put it in the pre-nup."

Oz tilts his head, giving Xander an interested look that means he's said something Oz finds curious.

Xander looks worried. "We're not really getting a pre-nup –that was just my humour which was not."

"That was understood."

"I just wanted to underline that I'll still have time for my friends. Who are important to me."

Oz regards him for a moment longer then says, "Devon got a little funny when I started seeing Willow. Thought I was neglecting my homies for a girl. Which I sorta was – though actually? More about the moon time issue. But he adjusted. Mostly by trying to get me to set him up with Buffy."

The further mention of her name provokes more blinking.

"My point is that stuff will probably change, Xander, that's what happens. But we'll deal."

Xander wants to properly convey what Oz means to him, but he stops himself, in case he says more than he means to.  

There's been echoes of – _this_ – before: Larry, Riley, even Angel much though he hates to admit it. A thing that can't be named, said aloud – one that complicates his feelings for Oz and adds to his confused emotions.  

But even if he could find the words, what purpose would it serve? He's made his choice, and he's happy with it, truly. He loves Anya. And, anyway, it’s not as if there was an actual choice, not in the way part of him would want.

No. He shakes his head a little, hoping to clear it.

"I know, I know. I am sappy melodramatic Xander today. I guess I just don't want to lose any more friends."

Oz smiles again, this time his mysterious Mona  Lisa smile.

 Xander finds himself blinking once more.

 

_The prey is crouched a short distance away, frozen with fear, unsure whether to flee or stand its ground. The wolf bares its teeth, then tips back its head to howl. The prey makes a howl of its own, then rises to its hind legs and runs._

INT. OZ’S BEDROOM.  

Oz sits on his bed, strumming his guitar, contemplative. He is alone. Slowly, he starts to pick out a tune.

OZ:  (singing)

Sunnydale’s singing,  
And Devon is tearful.  
‘Cause if everyone’s singing,  
For his job’s he’s fearful.  
But then _he_ was singing,  
And gave me an earful...

When I bailed on the Dingoes  
Did I just not get it?  
I said I was sorry  
I just had to Tibet it -  
And this singing’s all magic  
So try not to sweat it;  
‘Cause Buffy’ll fix things,  
Can we not just forget it?

He seems to be calm now  
But his trust I should mend  
Yes, Sunnydale’s singing  
Don’t know how it ends.

Sunnydale’s singing,  
It could be a trial.  
For that’s how it happens,  
The confessional style.  
So I’m staying hidden,  
At least for a while.

What if I start admitting?  
If I can’t help but say?  
My feelings for Xander,  
They’re kinda quite gay.  
Though from his Anya  
I’d never want him to stray,  
And I reckon my feelings  
Are strictly one-way. 

So best to stay right here  
Don’t wanna lose a friend  
For Sunnydale’s singing  
Don’t know how it ends.

(speaking)

Huh.

 

_The wolf is here. It is now. It has – been – before, but that seems distant. But the wolf is here, now. And – it can smell blood. It can smell prey. It is hungry. It turns its head in the direction of the scent._

There is a flash and the scene changes, and Xander is sat on the edge of his marital bed, with Anya towering over him. She’s older still, perhaps in her late forties.  

“Don’t lie to me!”

Xander swipes a hand down his face. “I’m not lying, it was just a cat.”

“Don’t lie! When a cat jumps off our window sill it doesn’t completely crush all of our azaleas, and it doesn’t swear like a sailor!”

He looks up at her face, sees that it’s blotchy with anger. “It’s not what you think.”

“ _Don’t lie!_ I was a vengeance demon for a thousand years, Xander. It’s not like I haven’t seen this before.”

He swallows, his own rage suddenly hot behind his eyes.

“Well, it’s not as if I’m the first one in this marriage to take another man to their bed. At least he was human.”

Anya slaps him hard, makes a pained sound, then turns on her heel. She reaches the door, turning to deliver her parting shot. “I should have known! You know, I suspected even before we were married – all those ‘movie nights’ with Oz – I – I should have known!”

She leaves, slamming the door, and the family portrait on the wall wobbles.  

He shouts after her, “Oz?! What? You’re crazy, Ahn! Nothing happened!”

Then, quietly, to himself, “Nothing happened. I wish it had.”

The scene flashes once more and now he’s in a restaurant, eating with the family.

 

_“No!”_

_He can feel the beginning, and tries to prevent it. But it is too late. Oz feels the slip-slide-lock of bone and tooth and claw and the pain overwhelms his senses. Colour drains from the world and he is gone._

Xander should really have known better. Whether it was Buffy and Angel, Buffy and Riley, Willow and Xander himself, poor Joyce and evil Ted – even Anya and Spike – Sunnydale had a habit of making a crisis out of intimate moments.

It’d taken Anya getting it on with Spike to realise how deeply he’d messed things up. For what’d seemed like the right reasons, sure, but he couldn’t have chosen a worse way – a worse time – to make his mind up about marriage. Nor had he really dealt with the reasons why.

And it’d taken the argument with Buffy just now – however inexplicable her choice to have some sort of twisted relationship with Spike was – to realise how just out of kilter most of his other relationships had gotten.  

He needed to straighten things out – think things through. Figure out what to do next. Have a drink.   

When he’d opened the door to the Bronze, intent on heading to the bar and ordering a large Scotch he’d first seen the stage. On it, the Dingoes were setting up, Oz to one side, tuning his guitar.

There’d been a moment of clarity, and he’d headed in Oz’s direction.

“Xander,” said Oz, by way of greeting, when Xander suddenly appeared on the stage next to him. Then, concerned: “You look terrible. I feel I have to mention you smell terrible too.”

He’d swept a hand through greasy hair, feeling just a little worse. “Sorry. It’s just all been a little messed up of late. God, Oz – Anya slept with Spike. And Spike slept with Buffy. Not necessarily in that order.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. And man does it hurt. I know I screwed it up with Anya beyond the telling of it, but seeing it like that –“  

“You actually saw them together? Oh.”

“Yeah. Hidden camera in the Magic Box, something to do with our nerdy friends. And then it transpires Buffy’s fallen for his charms too. Truth be told, I find that harder to get my head around – I can’t believe she’d do something like that. With something like him.”

Oz had shrugged. “I do get why you’d feel so strongly about it, but speaking as someone who’s gone there with someone he really shouldn’t’ve, people sometimes get involved with other people who aren’t any good for them, for lots of reasons. We’re only human et cetera. Well, for the most part.”

“I know. I’ve really messed up with Buffy. Spike’s in the past I think, and I’ll make it up to her. And Anya.”

“I guess that’ll be harder.”

There had been a pause, whilst Xander summoned his courage. “Probably, more than you know. Oz, I have to be honest now. No more lies, or half-truths."

"I’m sure she’ll appreciate that.”

“No, I mean with you. I didn't tell you why I couldn't go through with the wedding. Not really."

“You don’t need to explain anything to me.”

"No, I do. I mean, it's true I didn't feel ready. It’s true I had doubts about how good a husband I could be. And it’s true that I was worried I’d turn into my father.”

“You’re not him.”

“Maybe not. I hope not. But that wasn’t really the reason.”

At this point, Xander had set his shoulders, looking directly at Oz, heart pounding.

"I think it was 'cause I'm in love with you."

They’d held their gaze for a moment. Xander had no idea how Oz would react, what he’d say, hadn’t really even considered it –  

– and it had been at that moment they’d heard the crash and the screams. The Sunnydale curse on intimate moments had taken effect, and their attention had suddenly been drawn to where Warren had somehow thrown a guy twice the size of him halfway across the room.

Now, it was only moments after the Trio had departed. Xander and Oz had intervened, and whilst they’d been successful in preventing any serious damage, it was not before Xander had received a fairly brutal punch to the jaw and Oz had been hit in the chest and hurled backwards over the bar.

Breathing heavily, bleeding from his lip and wincing in pain, Xander extends a hand and helps Oz to his feet. “We need to finish that conversation, sometime when we’re not fighting evil. But first I’ve got to go and find Buffy and tell her about Warren."

A winded but otherwise unharmed Oz nods. "The van’s outside."

For a second they pause, still hand in hand. Then, releasing, they head for the door.

 

_Oz is in the forest. Which is weird, because a second ago he was in his apartment._

_Weirder still is that Willow is there too. Oh, and Warren, stripped to the waist and tied spread-eagle to a couple of trees. He’s bleeding from a wound in his chest._

_Weird beyond words is Willow’s appearance: black hair and eyes, veiny skin, power radiating from her so bad it makes the hair on Oz’s forearms stand on end._

_She regards him with a look that somehow combines both joy and hate. Oz has a bad feeling about this._

_“Willow?”_

_Ignoring him, she addresses Warren. “You know Oz, don’t you? He killed a woman too. Did you know that?”_

_It’s only when he hears Warren’s muffled cries that Oz looks and realises that Warren’s mouth has been sewn shut._

_“Oz ripped her throat out. I wonder what he’d do to you.”_

_“Don’t...” Oz begins, taking a step towards her. “Willow, I...”_

_She flicks her hand and Oz staggers back, blood dripping from cuts on his cheek._

_“Don’t interrupt me,” she snaps. “You’re just like him. It’s not as if you normally have a problem staying quiet.”_

_“This isn’t you,” Oz says, and this time she brings him to his knees, a deep gash across his forehead._

_“Don’t tell me who I am. You murdered Veruca. He murdered Katrina. He murdered_ Tara _. Until now, neither of you have been punished. He did this._ You _did this._

_Oz says, quietly, “She would have killed you. I had no choice.”_

_She ignores him again. Another flick of the hand, and Warren is cut down from the tree, his mouth unstitched but bleeding to match the wound on his chest. On his knees, he gulps in air, and then starts to babble pleas for mercy, eyes flicking between Willow, Oz, and potential routes of escape._

_From behind Oz, there’s the sound of people approaching. Buffy is shouting Willow’s name._

_Oz reaches out a hand. “Willow, please – I don’t know what happened, but I know Tara wouldn’t want this.”_

_Willow remains impassive, gazes at Oz, tilting her head. “Bored now.  Warren, you couldn’t outrun me. Shall we see if you can outrun a werewolf?”_

_She smiles, then flicks her hand once more._

 

It is morning in Sunnydale.  

Oz stands on the balcony of Xander’s apartment, holding a mug of green tea. He wears light blue pyjama bottoms but is otherwise barefoot and bare-chested, and the gentle breeze feels cool on his skin.  

He tends to rise much earlier than Xander, and has often spent the early hours just looking out over Sunnydale from the balcony’s vantage point, listening to the rustle of leaves and the birdsong.

It has been over a month since he awoke in the forest at dawn, human, naked and horribly full. He’d vomited almost immediately, eyes screwed tight shut so he couldn’t see what was coming up.  

It was only after that, once he’d scrambled away from that specific spot and huddled under another tree, shivering and still nauseous, that he suddenly realised: the wolf was gone. He didn’t just look human, he _was_ human. One hundred per cent _homo sapiens_.

No sensation of the beast ever-present and under the skin, just ordinary senses and ordinary Oz. He should have felt elated. Instead, he felt all the more naked and numb.

Buffy had found him some time afterwards, still trembling under the tree. She’d found Warren’s corpse too, what was left of it. The _Herald_ reported it was wild dogs.

His first instinct had been to flee, to get the hell out of Sunnydale again after what he did. Nothing that Buffy or Xander could say helped with the guilt, no matter how much he rationalised it. Willow’s magic had forced him to change, true, but he’d given her a reason to use him as a weapon.

Ironically, it seemed that the evaporation of Willow’s dark magic when Xander had gotten through to her on the bluff had taken the wolf with it. Giles didn’t have time to consider the situation before he left for England, but he’d called a few days later to say that it was pretty much unprecedented as far as he could make out from his research. He couldn’t really offer an explanation, so instead offered his congratulations – but it still sounded pretty hollow to Oz. What price his emancipation?

Before, he’d left to try to discover who he was, what exactly divided him from the wolf. This time around, he had no idea what he was supposed to be figuring out.  Except learning to deal with what had occurred. What he had done.  

He’d spent so long trying to reconcile Oz with the wolf he wasn’t sure who he was now it was gone.

However, he had realised that leaving would provide no more guarantee of finding answers than staying. He needed to be around people who knew him. That said, and much as he loved Devon, he wasn’t going to deal in a frat house, and for that reason he’d moved, albeit temporarily, into Xander’s apartment, and on to the sofa.

It had worked as well as he could have wished. Whilst Xander went to work, Oz would meditate and play his guitar, and when Xander got home – assuming he wasn’t assisting Buffy that evening – Oz would cook and they’d watch movies. Oz did not talk about what happened, but silently, he processed, Xander once again an unwitting worry doll.

For his part, Xander never mentioned the conversation in the Bronze, and Oz had been grateful, because in the immediate aftermath he wasn’t really ready to consider what it could mean, not on top of everything else. And, actually, had he had the chance to respond that evening, he’d have said that, right then, Xander needed to make his peace with Anya before making any overtures to anyone else.

This morning, this bright and beautiful morning, Oz thinks he is ready to deal. That this is the right moment, or as right as any moment likely would be. He’s not sure he’s sorted out his head yet. He’s not even sure he ever will. But he needs to have some forward momentum.  

It’s time to start to reconnect.

He hears what he has been waiting for, movement in the kitchen, and heads indoors. Xander is making some coffee, the machine puttering away on the counter. He’s already dressed, in plaid shirt and jeans, hard hat sat next to his empty mug.

“Morning,” he says, cheerfully.

“Hey.”

Oz looks at Xander, properly. The wounds on his cheek have almost healed, no longer prominent on his face. His hair is getting longer again, and the skinny schoolboy Oz first met has thickened a little around the middle, though this is no bad thing. Still the same bright, hazel eyes, and playful grin.

“What? Do I have toothpaste on my face again?”

It feels wrong, just a little, but Oz lets himself desire. He still half thinks of desire as dangerous, because once it might have opened a door the wolf could burst through. But not now. Not now.

“Oz, what is it?”

“About what you said in the Bronze...”

Xander pales then, and a slightly stricken look crosses his face.

“Yeah, about that. I’m really very sorry. Maybe it’s better if –“

He’s cut off by Oz’s kiss.  

The difference in their height means Oz has to get close to reach his lips: their bodies meet, Xander feeling warm and solid. Oz’s hand slides round Xander’s flank to pull him tight, and it’s the first time Oz has been this close to anyone since splitting with Willow, and the surge of raw emotion it provokes makes Oz dizzy.

Xander tastes so very good, and it’s with effort that Oz breaks the embrace and steps back.

They stare at each other for a moment, Xander all wide eyes and wet lips.

“About what you said,” Oz repeats, “I think we should talk about that tonight.”

Xander nods, still a little stunned.

“But we’ll need to go slow.”

More nods.

“Slow is fine. Slow is good. I am Slime-o, the human snail.”

Oz smiles.

“Cool. Tonight.”

“Tonight.”

Oz leaves Xander, and returns to the balcony.

He looks out, watching the sun rise over Sunnydale.


End file.
